Appreciation or appropriation?

Several weeks back, photos emerged of ESPN host Pablo Torre, a Filipino-American, wearing the University of the Philippines (UP) sablay in a gala reception in Los Angeles. Given the sablay is mostly, if not exclusively, used for the university system’s graduations and other academic ceremonies, the sight of such usage ignited responses that ranged from amusement to outrage.

On one hand, many decried the inappropriate use of the sablay as disrespectful to UP and its graduates, with some linking it to a more general critique of Filipino-Americans’ tendency to “appropriate” elements of what they see as “Filipino.”

On the other hand, others have defended Torre, accepting his own explanation that his act was to “pay tribute” to his parents, both of whom are UP alumni. “Why not?” as Dada Docot, an anthropology colleague and UP alumna who’s now based in the United States, told me, adding: “UP is all about challenging rules. Why the outrage?”

The sablay incident reminds me of the fine line between appreciation and “cultural appropriation”: How do we distinguish between embracing aspects of a certain culture and disrespecting or exploiting it? To what extent can we call the numerous cultures within our country “our own,” and to what extent can we borrow elements from them and claim it as part of our individual and national identity?

These questions are not just philosophical; they have some practical implications. Is it okay to get tattoos using indigenous methods and patterns? Some years back, when I broached that question to Kalinga men in Tabuk, they responded in the negative, because for them, “having an undeserved tattoo would dishonor their illustrious forebears.” “While many travelers seek to embody our country’s rich and diverse heritage by having a tattoo by Whang-Od,” I concluded, “some Kalinga men choose to honor their ancestors by not having one.”

Is it okay to wear clothes with indigenous textiles and designs? When I threw this question to Victor Baguilat Jr., a designer whose social enterprise, Kandama, uses traditional Ifugao weaving, he replied: “As someone with Ifugao heritage, working with Ifugao women … I feel we are within the bounds of acceptability; that we’re actually showcasing the beauty and diversity of our culture.” Baguilat, who has staged fashion shows all over the world, most recently in Cannes, added: “Take note that our textiles … even in the past they were commonly bartered; they were never meant to be worn by just one group. But it’s a different story if it’s a sacred pattern.”

A meta question: Who gets to decide the answers to these questions? Some folks in Kalinga may disagree, but if Whang-Od and her kin believe in applying the craft to others, can they be faulted? Is culture not evolving? Several years back, Jeremy Lin’s use of dreadlocks was labeled by some as “appropriation”—but the ensuing debate—e.g., what about Black people using Chinese characters in their tattoos?—led to a slippery slope in which every act can be seen as an act of appropriation.

Including the sablay itself. Given that it is named and patterned after an indigenous garment and, in the words of the UP website, “common design elements across indigenous cultures in the Philippines” as well as ukkil— which is a design technique used in Sulu. Given the marginality of our indigenous peoples, especially those from Mindanao, is it not a form of appropriation in itself? In using the baybayin as the “font” of our heritage, are we exempt from the “tokenism” we see in the diaspora, just because we’re from the “homeland?”

Personally, I would consider three things—intent, content, and context—to respond to each situation differently, applying humility, sensitivity, respect, and openness to listen; accepting that some disagreements do not merit outrage; and acknowledging that much of what we think of as “cultural identity” was never meant to be exclusive. If the clear intent is to honor or pay tribute to a culture rather than to plagiarize their designs or whitewash one’s wrongdoing, then that has to count for something. But the content has to be respectful too. For instance, in terms of being sensitive to the nuances of the art, and the values of the people.

Finally, the context matters. Which is why I think wearing an academic sablay in a gala night is, for the lack of a better word, sablay, but at the same time, also why I would reserve my outrage toward situations when the broader context calls for it. It’s great to see indigenous designs and textiles in our formal occasions, but something’s clearly wrong when a high ranking government official wears the traditional dress of an indigenous community while being part of a regime that Red-tags those same communities, closes their schools, and militarizes their lands.

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